


Protea

by JaydonMonroe



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Autistic Will Graham, M/M, Metaphors, Season 1, Symbolism, Tags May Change, Trans Character, Trans Hannibal Lecter, Trans Male Character, Trans Will Graham, Trans for Trans, derealization disorder, hmmm what of my own personal issues will i project onto hannibal...., i want to add margot somehow but i cant figure a way to yet, is Hannibal a Cannibal?, no encephalitis, t4t, this is just self projection at this point, unnecessary symbolism and metaphors because thats how i work, well find out next time, will doesnt know hannibal is a cannibal, will has derealization disorder, written by an autistic person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydonMonroe/pseuds/JaydonMonroe
Summary: Flowers are reflections of the beauty in life. They grow through fires and rocks and flooding and storms. Everything is constantly changing. Flowers reflect the hardships faced, showing the beauty from the suffering. Change is part of growing.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

Two men look to one another, both sitting across from each other on expensive leather chairs. One man, a brunette, looks through glazed and distant eyes at the blonde, his eyes avoiding the other’s, instead choosing to rest on the man’s expensive suit. He is hunched over and limp, in obvious discomfort in himself. The thick yet comfortable silence that hangs between them drops suddenly drops when the blonde opens his mouth.

“You are silent today, Mr. Graham.”

Graham does not say anything in response, but sits back, slouching, and crosses his arms over his chest. His shaggy, curly hair frames and pours over his glasses on his stern face as he scowls, giving the older man the urge to laugh, which he naturally represses with a small grin. A thin veil of silence returns between them.

“Funny how you are so formal in the beginning,” Will finally responds, muttered but audible, “Hannibal, do I look like I want to talk?”

The man, Hannibal, leans forward, his elbows on his knees, leaning into the small space between the two. He was close enough to Graham that, if he wished, Hannibal could hold the other man’s hand, or stab into his thigh, if he wanted, if the urge was to overtake him. 

“Why come, if you do not want to talk with me?”

Will scoffs, looking away from Hannibal and to the bookcase across the room in the wall.

“Your 24-hour cancellation policy,” his face does not return to Hannibal’s, his voice barely above a thick whisper, “You’d hunt me down.”

“I doubt this is a recent development from within the last day, Will. We haven’t spoken in close to a week. You cancelled our last session, out on a case, if I remember,” Hannibal muses, hoping for Will to elaborate on his last cancellation.

“Jack had plans for me, he said I could miss a day of talking to you.”

Will remains silent, standing up and exploring the first floor of Hannibal’s office. The doctor allows him, only following the shorter man with his amber eyes. Finding himself at Hannibal’s desk, Will flips through the leather bound book he recognizes as Hannibal’s sketchbook. Graphite sketches of himself pop up throughout the book, but Will does not process any of them. In light frustration, he slams it close.

“What do you do when you are experiencing how you are feeling like you are now?” Hannibal inquires from his chair in the middle of the room. Will lays himself down in response, on the floor in front of Hannibal’s desk. In concerned but controlled strides, Hannibal crouches in front of Will, who laid in the fetal position.

“Will, would you like me to leave? Blink twice if you want me to leave,” Hannibal whispers. 

Will leaves his eyes open.

“Blink twice for me to stop talking.”

Will’s eyes remain open.

“May I touch you?”

Will’s eyes shut twice.

“I understand. If you do not mind, I’m going to ask a few questions. One blink for ‘yes’, twice for ‘no’. Is this alright for you, Will?”

One blink.

“Are you in physical pain?”

_No._

“Is there anything I can do?”

_No._

“I have never seen you in this state, as nonverbal to this extent. Does this happen often?”

No response.

“Is that ‘I do not know’?”

_Yes._

Hannibal sat next to Will. Where he sat, there was roughly a foot of distance between the two. Hannibal wanted to comb his fingers through Will’s hair, to remove the man’s glasses that were obviously bringing him discomfort due to the way his head was laid, but Hannibal knew better. Instead, the man watched Will’s breathing. When he had started to shut down, Will’s breathing was heavy, even though he tried fighting it. Now, twenty minutes later, his breathing was more even, almost back to his resting rate.

“Would you like water? Or something else to drink?” Hannibal cut through their silence, whispered, not wanting to startle Will.

“No,” Will whispered in return, surprising Hannibal.

“Is your….episode…..over?” Hannibal asked as softly as he could.

“Hm,” Will grunted.

“ I can take you home, if you want,” offered Hannibal.

“Can’t get up,” Will mumbled.

“I can carry you, if you wish.”

“No. Just stay here.”

“Do you want to talk about this? We do not have to now, but I would prefer discussing this eventually.”

“Not now.”

Hannibal stood up to retrieve his sketchbook from behind them on his desk. He picked his sharpest pencil from the few laid next to his book. Sitting back in his spot next to his patient and colleague, the doctor noticed the man watching him from the corner of his eye.

“I will not leave you without warning, Will.”

Hannibal dragged his pencil across an empty page, mapping out his newest work. The small noises of the pencil scratching the paper was the only noise emitted from the room, save for the two men’s breathing. Picking his head up moderately, Will peered at Hannibal forming the shape of a man curled in on himself with his pencil. Embarrassment surged through the young man, but he shut his tired eyes and rested instead.

“Why do you draw me?” Will inquired. Hannibal peered over to the man beside him, noticing Will had moved closer to him.

“I think you are an interesting man. Interesting and beautiful,” Hannibal could feel Will rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids.

“Fucking annoying bastard….” Will muttered.

Hannibal’s grin returned to his lips. His eyes stayed trained on his pad of paper and pencil, but heard Will shuffling himself into a sitting position.

“I’m going to head out. ‘M sorry for wasting your...." Will looked down at his wristwatch, only now realizing how much time had past, "Wasting your hour," Will mumbled as he stood up and shuffled across the room to retrieve his jacket. Hannibal set his sketchbook and pencil down, restraining a run to Will.

“Let me drive you home,” Hannibal helped Will back into his coat, “You are exhausted and no doubt still in a cloudy mind.”

Will knew he was right. If he drove himself, he would either regress back into the mindset he had only just escaped, or he would dissociate and lose time, leaving him unable to remember if he had or had not hurt anyone on the ride home.

“What about my car?” Will was desperately trying to not come off as awkward, which he no doubt failed. He complied with Hannibal putting his jacket on him, an action that somehow felt deeply tenderhearted, despite its simplicity.

“I can drive it.”

“But, how will you get home?”

Will was flustered. Hannibal, standing behind him, his breath on the back of his neck, raising the hair on Will’s neck and arms. A soft blushed heated Will’s ears. Will prayed Hannibal did not notice.

“Would….would you like to stay the, um, the night?” Will offered, feeling little options available. Will felt anxious tears flood behind his eyes. He wanted Hannibal to wrap his arms around him, kiss his neck, be kind and gentle to his body as he was to his mind. He wished they were in Hannibal’s house, so Hannibal could lead him to either one of his sofas, or his own bedroom. Will wanted to lay in Hannibal’s arms, the weight of Hannibal’s arms reassuring that they were both real, that Will did exist, that he was not just someone else’s figment, that the world was real and there and every action did matter--

“Will.”

Will woke up. He was standing in his house. In the living room. His piano to his right, his window to his left, dog beds and fireplace behind him, and one Dr. Hannibal Lecter in front of him. He had not been asleep.

“Lose time again?” the world felt cloudy.

“I--,” Will choked out before shouting out a sob.

“I FUCKING HATE THIS!” Will screams. He finds himself back on the floor, feeling like a child having a temper-tantrum, the dogs, all perk their ears up at his shout, “TH-THIS SHIT, THIS IS FUCKING--THIS--I WANT TO FUCKING END IT!”

Hannibal appears in front of him, crouching with him. A palm finds its way to Will’s tear-stricken cheek, brushing his tears away as Will continues to sob. Will does not scream again, scared of Hannibal leaving him. He wanted to curl up and let Hannibal hold him.

“Please….please don’t leave me.” 

Will looked up into Hannibal’s eyes, blue meeting amber. Hannibal could not help but want to kiss away the man’s tears, to rebuild that man back from his vulnerable state and into the enduring man he had first met.

“I will not, Will.”

Hannibal helped Will stand up and half dragged him to the room he recognized as Will’s bedroom. He sat Will down on his bed and moved to undress him; he took his boots and socks off for Will as Will handed him his jacket. Will once again looked like a small child.

“May I?” Hannibal asked, gesturing to Will’s belt and pants. Will nodded, before realization overtook him and a panic set into his eyes.

“Are you sure you are okay with this?” Hannibal whispered, never missing a nuance in Will’s face.

“It’s fine,” Will’s voice raspy.

Hannibal’s eyes stayed on Will’s face, not completely sure if he himself was comfortable with doing what had sparked a reaction from the other man. His hands undid Will’s belt as Will worked to unbutton his shirt. Hannibal hesitated as he slid off Will’s pants, leaving him in his boxers. Hannibal stood back up on his feet, Will now looking up at Hannibal.

“Did you get a surgery done?”

Will followed the hand Hannibal had used to gesture with, looking down at his chest, covered by a compression vest.

“I thought you knew?” Will said calmly, a small panic rising in the back of his throat.

“I make sure to not assume about patients.”

“I’m not your patient, remember? Just conversations,” Will gave Hannibal a joking grin, contrasting with his red, tear stained cheeks. Hannibal returned the expression.

“Then I make sure to not assume about friends. Do you mind?” Hannibal gestured to his suit. Heat raised to Will’s face, but nodded.

Hannibal had already taken his suit jacket off, though Will did not remember or realize. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled his tucked-in shirt out from his slacks. His dark eyes returned to Will’s as he unbuttoned and revealed his own chest, horizontal lines wrapping around from under his armpit, to his sternum. He let his shirt fall to Will’s floor. Will’s eyes widened.

“I thought you knew,” Hannibal grinned toothily.

“I make sure not to assume about friends.”

Hannibal kneeled in front of Will once again, their eyes more level this time. Hannibal stroked Will’s shoulder, tracing his fingers down to Will’s, intertwining them. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Will’s hand. 

“I….I don’t think I want to do….anything tonight,” Will’s fear and anxiety clear through his voice, eyebrows knitted together. Hannibal’s hand cupped Will’s face.

“Of course. You’ve had an depleting day. May I lay with you? I am fine sleeping on your couch.”

“No, it’s fine,” Will moved to lay his body on the bed, on his back. Hannibal sat at the foot of the bed, looking at the half-naked man in front of him. Will closed his eyes, his arms over his stomach, not knowing what to do.

“I don’t feel real, sometimes.”

Hannibal’s mind perked.

“Was that the cause of your….”

“Breakdown?” Will offered.

“Incident?” Hannibal put a reassuring hand on Will’s thigh, grounding Will.

“I guess,” Will huffed, “When, when I realize my brain has been turned off and that I don’t know what I’ve been doing, I don't know what to do with myself,” Will ran his hands over his face, trying to hold his frustrated tears back, “I don’t know how to process any of it. I don’t know how to…. _express_ how I feel. I….I used to paint a lot, when I get overwhelmed. It would bring my brain back to center.”

“But you stopped?” Hannibal, having moved his position closer to the top of the bed, resting his hands now on Will’s stomach, absentmindedly running his fingers over the seams of Will’s binder, once white but now gray from wear. Will’s stomach muscles contracted, not expecting the touch, but not retreating from it either. Will left his hands resting atop his face, hiding from the man.

“Nothing turns out right.”

“May I see any?”

“Sold most of them, got a few under the bed, a few laying around the house,” Will finally took his hands away from his face, letting his arms fall limp by his sides, looking up at Hannibal’s face, studying the sharp jaw and cheekbones. Hannibal’s eyes stayed looking at his own hand.

“Do you paint?” Will’s expression was somber, reminiscing the days he used to create.

“Occasionally. I find sketching with my pencil a more natural talent of mine. It is easier to correct mistakes when you can erase them,” Hannibal finally met Will’s eyes once again, “Did you sell them for rent?”

“Yeah, that and medical payments. The people I rent the house from, they understand when it’s hard for me to make the payments on time. I don’t earn that much. I used paintings to pay for testosterone. I was scheduled for a consultation for top surgery, but my mind hasn’t exactly been in the right place,” Will tried to joke, but it only came off sadder. Hannibal offered a kind smile.

“This week was draining for you, Will. I’ll let you rest. If you don’t mind, could I sleep on your couch?” Hannibal stood up, gathering his shirt and waistcoat from the floor. Will sat up and latched his hand onto Hannibal’s wrist.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Will impulsively said, realizing the clinginess in his voice and action, “I don’t want to wake up walking down the road again,” Will attempted to hide his want.

Hannibal nodded.

Hannibal felt as if there was a flower inside his body. It had been dead and dormant for his first twenty years. The small vibrant plant growing roots in his gut the day he cut his long, delicately blonde hair, fixing themselves through his stomach and intestines, claiming him as finally a place for life and existence. He told himself that it was because he was moving to Florence from Lithuania, that it was a new start. A new identity, one as a man, as finally himself.

Changing his identity had not been difficult. Already tall for being declared “female” and with sharp features and bone structure, Hannibal knew a few associates who could help him with what his body could not naturally provide. He had all the money he needed for new papers, clothing, and more.

Months before his departure from his home country, at an opera performance, Hannibal wore an elegant burgundy cocktail dress, the skirt flared and fell nearly to the floor. His soon-to-be-cut hair flowed from his scalp to his waist, a waterfall of gold. 

Drinking a glass of wine, Hannibal had met a surgeon. Chatting casually, the surgeon had mentioned briefly that he had worked with “transvestites” and “transexuals”, leading them to exchange a few words of where they could find each other if needed. Hannibal called his work a month later, regarding a complete mastectomy and hormone therapy.

_“I will pay whatever you need, as long as you keep this between us.”_

_“Of course, Mr. Lecter.”_

Hearing himself identified as “Mr. Lecter”, instead of “Miss” or “Madam”, gave Hannibal the last piece of confirmation he needed that he was in fact not the mesmerizing scarlet letter that was Miss Mischa Lecter.

Hannibal laid his head next to Will’s, peering from his own eyes to the smaller man’s. Will’s face was tired and pale. Hannibal did not know the last time Will ate. Will probably did not know either. His face was somewhat gaunt, dark lines under his eyes. Hannibal had always studied Will’s face, memorized it enough to put in on paper, but never this close. Eyes ran over and examined Will’s bone structure, his eyes, everything. Hannibal tucked a stray curl behind Will’s ear, only earning him Will turning over, his back now facing Hannibal. 

“You should take this off,” Hannibal ran his palm over Will’s back, over his chest binder. Will only wrapped his arms over himself tighter.

Hannibal held the edge of the fabric, alluding to moving it over Will’s head. Will loosened his arms, welcoming Hannibal’s action. They sat up, Will’s back still facing Hannibal, slipping the worn binder over his head. Hannibal traced Will’s shoulder blades with his finger, inspecting the way his muscles exist under his skin. Will turns his head, side-eyeing Hannibal the best he could. Will crossed his arms over his chest again. 

“I don’t like existing like this. I don’t even feel real.”

“I know, Will.”

Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, over Will’s own arms, bringing them both down back to laying on the bed.

"It will get better," Hannibal presses a light kiss to Will's neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Closure was never something Hannibal would ever get. He would forever watch his one constant be torn from his hands in memory. She would forever be in the ground, flowers growing from the life she once had. He would never be able to hold her and protect her again.

_“What if I were a boy?”_

_“But you are my big sister. Are you leaving me, too?”_ Mischa’s eyes stared as big as the stars in the night sky, wet with worry.

_“No, gėlė. I’ll always be your protector, Mažoji sesuo, but I could be your big brother.”_

_“Why?”_

Hannibal held her close and kissed on top of her head. He was sure she could feel his heart ticking away, twice as fast. Tears building up, threatening to slide down his face and reveal themselves to the young, worried girl.

_“Nothing, maža rožė. Nothing.”_

Will awoke slowly. The haze in his eyes and head were still there from the previous day, or maybe his whole life. He tried rubbing it away with the heel of his palm, but the fog persisted to his dismay. The surroundings of Will’s room were gradually coming into focus in his eyes, like a camera lense focusing, but a fingerprint on the glass lense remained smudged. Not quite _there_ but still able to recognize the main details. The fog, the fingerprint, Will could not shake any of it. In hopes of aiding himself, Will haphazardly reached for his glasses on his bedside table, catching a glimpse of the time on his clock.

4:24 AM

Flopping his body to lay on his back once again, Will felt a wave of awareness sober up his tired mind. Turning his head toward the still-dark window, Will saw an imprint on the sheets, alluding Will had not slept alone. Will felt his mind come to a complete halt, just as he was beginning to focus his brain.

Sitting back up again, Will peered around the room, sweeping his eyes over every inch of his bedroom he could see through the dark. The dogs were still all asleep in their beds. Will’s fishing lures and the beginnings of the wooden frames for canvases laid undisturbed on his work desk and bench, as they had been for weeks. Papers and fishing poles were all in their place. Standing up, Will stepped through a pile of two or three pieces of clothing. He fished out his chest binder and shoved himself back in the cotton and spandex fabric. Looking back down, he saw an item he did not remember owning.

A deep colored waistcoat laid discarded, abandoned by its owner, who was obviously not Will. A cold ocean wave of panic crashed over Will. _Who was here? Did I do something? Who did I hurt? What happened yesterday? Did I….?_ Will felt like he was looking through a movie screen, watching himself exist. Sitting on the edge of his bed, hyperventilating, rocking back and forth, resting on his toes whenever his feet meet the floor, his hands in fists, tapping his sternum harder and harder the faster he breathed. Panic and fear surrounded and surged through him, he was starting to forget what had even caused it all to happen. 

He could not remember when, but he had stopped hitting himself, and was now only hyperventilating. He let himself collapse on his bed, laying on his side. He could only think in fragments.

_It got worse. It’s all worse. You’ll kill someone. You won’t wake up again._

Will wanted to stay there. Keep himself nonexistent. Jack could leave him alone. Alana would forget how he had scared her off. Zeller, Price, and Katz would find another person to poke at. Hannibal would find another person to psychoanalyze. The dogs….

The dogs would be there with him. Keep him company. Will could live further in the woods, no address, he could grow and hunt and fish his food, nothing to offset him. He could burn down this home, take his fishing poles and equipment, pick up Abigail from her housing on the recovery unit. Will and his daughter could live where no one could gawk at them, look at them as killers. Fish in streams. Abigail shows Will the skills Garrett Jacob Hobbs had taught her. Will teaching Abigail how to make the dogs’ food. Finding new strays that. Contentment blossomed in Will’s heart. Him and his child could exist how they should: happy and alone, but together.

Winston broke Will out of his daydreaming, nudging and pawing at Will’s foot, asking to be fed. Will sat up, catching the time on his clock again.

6:00 AM

All hope and contentment shattered.

Padding into the kitchen, the pack following and jumping at Will, trying to encourage him to walk faster. Will’s mind felt like it was back into his brain and not watching from a distance, but it would be back. It was always back.

While the dogs ate, Will poured himself a cup of coffee from a day-old pot, and reheated it in the microwave. Waiting, Will tried to retrace his own actions, rewinding the last 24 hours:

Will had woken up to Winston and Bonnie, his newest pup, barking at one another and playing roughly. Will had to break the two apart and moved their dog beds each to the other sides of the room from each other.

Will did not eat breakfast, and if he did, he did not remember it.

He had gone to do his morning lecture, but he could not remember if he had even made it on time or if he had even gotten to his lecture hall at all.

Will found himself retracing his steps and winding up at Alana’s office. He could see her placing a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was okay, but her voice was underwater and Earth was moving too fast.

He saw glimpses of himself driving to Hannibal’s office, but the sky had been dark for some time, and Will could not find where he had been and what he had done in the time between noon and that evening. He walked through into Hannibal’s office after Hannibal let him in. They sat where they always sat, but this time through exaggerated and strained silence.

Hannibal drove him home, he had walked into Will’s house with him, into his bedroom, into his bed. They saw each other.

Cold fingers of recollection ran down Will’s spinal cord, one thought prickling in his brain: _Lecter knows. Someone here knows._ But Will knew, too. They had a ground of solidarity, more than simply working through other people’s minds.

The beep of the microwave brought Will back down to the present again. He took his probably-not-microwave-safe mug from the microwave, sitting at the small dinner table. He sipped at the disgusting coffee, but one thing could not leave him be. Something tickled his brain in the back of his head. Will stood and walked his way back to his bedroom, stopped in the doorway, staring at the small pool of fabric on the hardwood floor.

Breaking his staring contest with the no doubt genuine silk charmeuse, Will picked up the lonely waistcoat, examining it. It was a shade of blue, dark enough to be perceived as black. The material was textured (and obviously expensive). Will ran his finger over the side seams and the small detailing of the decorative stitching in a muted mauveine thread on the hems and sides. He knew the waistcoat would look ridiculous if he were to wear it, but of course it looked natural on Hannibal. A man born in suits.

Will placed the waistcoat over the back of the chair across to his work desk, and walked back to the dining table, trying his best to drink the rest of the horrible, utterly and completely revolting cup of coffee that could probably kill a small infant. He thought of Hannibal, about the tonal shift between the two just hours ago, how he would continue with himself while working with Hannibal. He knew the two of them vines intertwined together, always sharing the same brainwave and understanding what each other meant and the subtleties of their expressions and words. Will saw them as vines that overlapped and wrapped around another, but never growing together, reaching for a different light source. Maybe now they were.

Will tore himself from his thoughts, looking through a window as the sunlight creeped its fingers in. His thoughts were only daydreams and the result of being infatuated with someone who simply understood him. Hannibal and him were nothing more than two men working together. They were not ivy.

He brushed the hair from Will’s forehead and kissed an eyelid. He did not fall asleep, but waited for the other man to. Slipping quietly out of Will’s bed, he found his dark gray button up shirt and tucked it into his black suit pants. He found his tie, but decided to forego it for the car ride, stuffing it into his suit coat pocket. Dressing himself in the dark, Hannibal was sure he would end up leaving something behind, making him grin to himself. A tease. 

Hannibal kissed Will’s forehead, brushing his thumb against Will’s bottom lip thoughtfully before wrapping the blanket around Will’s shoulders. Carrying his shoes to reduce his noise, Hannibal gave each dog a pat on their head, even giving Winston a scratch behind his ear. Sneaking out from Will’s home without noise or disturbance was an easy feat. Hannibal knew how to move about without causing concern, even in the middle of a silent and still night.

Driving back to his home in Baltimore, Hannibal, with his shoes now on, thought of what would happen if a case were to arise. How Hannibal had just taken his only chance of a ride alone. Leaving him helpless. 

_Beautiful and helpless_ , Hannibal thought to himself, driving the dark roads of Wolf Trap. Will was far from a helpless man, but he would certainly have to call someone to give him a ride. Alana would ask where his own car was, and then Will would have to lie, give a stiff “I left it somewhere”, but then Alana would pester for more details, why he had left his car, how he would have been able to get home. Will would not call Alana. He would not call anyone, he would not be able to think of a solid enough cover-up. Will would be calling Hannibal. Over the hour-long drive from Wolf Trap to Baltimore, Hannibal felt a plan unfold behind his eyes. 

Pulling over into a cul de sac neighborhood, Hannibal parked on the side of the street, making sure the headlights were off. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small knife and a handkerchief, waiting. After waiting for half an hour, he spotted a late night runner. He was in his 30s, maybe his late 20s, had an athletic build. Hiding his knife up his shirt sleeve and the handkerchief in his suit coat’s pocket, he stepped out from his car in time to hit the man running with the car door.

“What the hell, man?!” the runner yelled from the ground. Hannibal stood towering over him, his expression of fake concern.

“I do apologize, that was entirely my fault, sir,” Hannibal extended a hand to help the man up. He took it, propping himself back up.

“Yeah, it was,” Hannibal watched him brush himself off and crouch back down to look for his cellphone in the dark, feeling the ground for it. Hannibal eyed for the best way to stab and immobilize the man without noise. He decided the throat; he was not a _horribly_ rude person, and Hannibal knew he was purposely seeing the man in a not-so-favorable moment, but he needed the heart intact.

“Sir, you look extremely familiar to me, where do you work?” Hannibal pestered the flustered man.

“I--uh--I work at a shop, down the road,” the man stood back up, having found his cell, and Hannibal found the man to be just an inch or two shorter than him, as he lurked over the young man.

Hannibal looked the man in the eye for a beat, then twisted the man around, his back to his chest, covered the man’s mouth with one hand with the handkerchief from his pocket, covering and muffling the man’s cries for help, the other stabbed and dragged the knife over his neck. Blood sprayed and dripped from the open gash. Within only a few seconds, he no longer felt the ragged and shallow breaths coming from the man’s nose. 

Hannibal laid the freshly-dead body on the road, his own breathing deep and adrenaline-fueled. He was without his usual set of tools, but he made do with what he could with this unplanned attack. 

Hannibal ripped slices of the newly-dead man’s shirt and laid the strips on the ground. Slicing the man’s gut open, reached and removed the liver, before moving up and stealing the man’s heart from his chest. He gently wrapped the organs in the shirt fabric. He was only fifteen minutes away from a hotel. Hannibal prayed he could get the meat to it and into a refrigerator in time before it all spoils, his efforts for nothing.

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, Dr. Lecter, I’m sorry, can I ask for a favor?”

“Of course, Will.”

“Yesterday, I left my car at your office. I have to do a lecture in two hours, and you….I left my car at your office. I need a ride.”

“I will pick you up in an hour, mano brangus vyras.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I can be there in an hour.”

Will set his phone down, sighing and covering his face with his hands. He sat on his couch, curled up on himself. The heat of panic pulsed in his chest and throat. Dragging his hands down his face, Will felt at the comforting scruff of his facial hair. Waiting a few beats, hiding himself from the world, he got up from the sofa to take a shower and change his clothes.

Warm water poured down as Will peeled off his sweatpants. He looked at himself through the mirror. He stood and looked at his body, wearing nothing but boxers and a binder. Testosterone changed his body, his face rougher and grew facial hair, his shoulders filled out, he got admittedly sweatier, but he still had hips wider than most cis men. Will twisted and contorted, trying to find an angle that made his body look more “naturally male”.

In the shower, he simply stood, his arms crossed over his chest, the water rushing over him. Tilting his head back, he contemplated opening his mouth and breathing it in. He felt the water rush down his nasal passages, burning his throat, seeping down to his heart, drowning the daisies of his organs, but flourishing the pickerelweed in his soul. The world had been decaying around him for years. Soon, he knew, he would find himself somewhere else in his house. Then he would be in his lecture hall. Or in the woods. Or fishing. His life operated in single photographs, not in film. He only surfaced through the water in moments, and then dragged down back under the water. Choked sobs broke through Will’s throat.

The hotel refrigerator was most definitely the biggest piece of evidence that would trace the dead man to Hannibal, but was going to be the easiest piece of evidence to hide. He had to remove his dress shirt and suit jacket and hide it in his car trunk, leaving him in a stray sweater he was able to find in his car, but the blood from the impulsive kill was not easy to clean without a shower. He was sure the kind young man at the front desk of the hotel saw the few patches of smeared blood on his neck and forehead, but seemed either too high or too exhausted to care or process it. Hannibal chose a small, almost motel, hotel that only cost him $50 dollars for the whole night. No one would clean the refrigerator for weeks.

His first action after smuggling the fabric-wrapped parcels was a shower. Will would call him in the morning. Hannibal could not let any blood make an appearance and make himself suspicious in any way since the man he killed would be discovered any hour.

Hannibal walked to a convenience store a few hundred yards away from the hotel to pick up a cooler and ice after his shower. He contemplated picking up a change of clothes at the store, but upon arrival, Hannibal could not stand any second longer than he needed to be in the store. The sharp, yellow-white fluorescent lights felt like pin pricks in his eyes, Hannibal practically ran in and out, minimizing his exposure to the ugly ceiling lights. He felt like he could finally breathe again when he made it back outside.

He gave himself a few hours to sleep, waking himself up at 4:24 AM.

Will opened the front door, Hannibal standing so naturally he might as have always been there. Will stared at the man, taking notice of him wearing the same suit he had worn last evening, of course missing his waistcoat. Will’s hair was still wet and a few strands clung to his forehead. The slightly flustered look on Will’s face caused Hannibal only to grin and want to run his fingers through the damp curls. Will stays still and stares into Hannibal’s face a moment too long, strengthening the stiff aura surrounding the two.

“Are you ready, Will?” Hannibal asks, softening Will’s hectic heart.

“Yeah,” Will looks back behind himself and into his house, “Would you like to come in? I think I need to grab another stack of papers, and grab my bag, then I’ll be good to go. You can visit with the dogs.”

Hannibal followed Will back into his house, the herd of dogs rushing over to see Hannibal, their favorite person, just behind their owner. Will disappeared into his office. His heart had been beating out of his ribcage. Everything that should not have happened happened and it was all crashing down against him. The whiplash of remembering Hannibal seeing him so vulnerable, and then Hannibal returning that. Nothing had already felt so false, and these increasing developments had not helped him.

Returning back to the main room where the dogs and Hannibal were occupying, Will found the every-professional man sitting on the floor, eight dogs nearly smothering him and sticking their fur onto his suit. Will watched him; Hannibal was so far removed from how Will had ever seen him act. He was always collected, even last night, always knowing and in control, but Will had never seen him relaxed and focused on something so careless as the pack of dogs. Hannibal turned up to look at Will.

“Ready now?” Hannibal said as if he was not sitting in the middle of a crowd made up of a comical amount of dogs for a single man to have. The sight of the beautifully domestic situation made Will smile.

“Yeah, I got everything.”

Will kissed and pet all the dogs in goodbye. He offered his hand to help Hannibal up and rescue him from the pack of dogs, which Hannibal took gently. Will felt a pool of heat spark in his stomach and up his throat. Hannibal instinctively grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing. Will dropped Hannibal’s hand, but knew he held it seconds too long.

“Do you always kiss each of your dogs before you leave, or are you showing off for me?” Hannibal asked playfully as Will locked up the house.

“Excuse me?” Will replied dumbly, fumbling with his keys anxiously. He wished he would have taken his anxiety medication.

“You still must show me your paintings you mentioned last evening,” Hannibal changed the subject as he started up his car, Will beside him in the passenger side. Will picked at his fingernails, needing a distraction.

“I do not want a pretentious bastard asking to see artwork, only to be lied to and told it isn't mediocre,” Will hissed as he pulled off half his fingernail, the tips of his fingers numb.

The two drove in silence. Hannibal knew he was pushing Will too much, even if he was only being playful. The silence between them was strained, not unlike a previous experience Will was surely still tired over. Will stayed focused on removing his fingernails the whole twenty-five minute drive to the academy, his breathing visibly distressed.

“Will, please tell me what you are thinking of that is causing you so much distress?” Hannibal said as they sat in the parking lot, a few minutes early.

Will sat there, shaking slightly through his anxiety. He was more busy studying the parking lot than listening or planning to respond to the other man’s question. His bag was clutched in his hands tighter than was necessary as it was sitting on his lap. Sweat was beginning to cause hairs to stick to Will’s forehead. Hannibal gently set his hand on Will’s shoulder, Will turned his face with his eyes twice as big, panic seeping through.

“Will, you are safe, I promise,” Hannibal peered into Will’s eyes, Will unrelenting in peering back.

“You say that, but I woke up and couldn’t remember yesterday for thirty minutes. It keeps getting worse. Everything is fake, I know it is. I’m asleep and dreamin’ and when I wake up, this is all going to disappear. I’m not a profiler. You’re not here. You and Abigail aren’t real. I went to sleep one day and dreamt you two up and when I wake up you’ll all disappear,” Will’s voice was breaking and rising in frustration. His lip trembled and he wanted to hit himself. He was finally saying what he had been feeling for so long and the world was collapsing further in on itself as he confessed. Things only become real if you say it.

“Everything is spreading up and changing so _goddamn fast_ ! Nothing real happens this way! I shut down last night, you took me home, you _fucking undressed_ me, and then you kissed me! I woke up and thought I killed someone! I don’t know what’s happening at any point in time, and everything I’m doing is uncontrolled!” Will throw his bag down at the car floor, hands flying to his face and running through his hair, dragging his hand over his face, hoping to wake up from all of this.

Unusual sympathy spread across Hannibal’s face.

“I’m trans and now you are. I made you in my head. My mind created you because I don’t know anyone else like me. This shit isn’t ‘fate’ or ‘just a coincidence’. You aren’t real,” Will’s voice lowered, suddenly sturdy.

Will’s eyes frantically scanned Hannibal’s face. Tears brimmed and rolled down his face.

“Will,” Hannibal grabbed at Will’s shoulder, “I promise, I am real. This is real. You are real.”

“No, no,” Will shook his head, exhaustion grabbed his body, his voice weak, “You’re lying.”

Hannibal looked into Will’s eyes, then turned back to pull out of the parking lot.

“I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone, Will,” Hannibal said firmly, emotions seep slowly into his voice, “I am taking you back to my own house.”

Will bit his lip, trying to keep back a loud sob. He wanted to jump out of the moving car. He wanted to run into the woods and hide out and be a missing person for the rest of his life. He wanted to punch himself again. Will drew his fist up to punch his chest again, but Hannibal grabbed his wrist before Will could make contact with his sternum.

“No, Will,” was all Hannibal commanded. Will gently shook his wrist to no avail.

Everything felt like it was happening in Will’s peripherals. Will tipped his head back and banged his head lightly against the headrest. He wanted any type of physical feeling that would match what he felt mentally. He was shutting down again for the second time in under 16 hours.

The two drove in relative silence, only breaking when Will would sniff back tears. Will was shaking violently from anxiety and vulnerability. Hannibal’s grip had migrated from Will’s wrist to holding his hand, still ready to restrain it. Will closed his eyes and thought of nothing. He could feel time not existing, but he was sure he was not losing it this time. The drive to Baltimore felt intimate, despite the circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things are kind of set up in this chapter that I swear will be expanded upon. The google doc I'm writing this on is over 7k words now, and this chapter is much longer than the first one so I hope that's appealing....? This took a long time but I hope you guys like it and it was worth the wait. Thank you guys for the love and support on the first chapter.


	3. Update (Feb. 8th, 2021)

Hi, this is a small update just to say that I am reworking and rewriting parts of this fic, so updates will be extremely slow, especially with school going on. The main points of the story won't change, I'm just reworking parts that felt too long or felt too unnatural. When I finish rewriting chapters one and two, I'll have chapter three up as well. When I post chapter three, I would suggest rereading chapter one and two since I'll have their rewrites/2nd drafts posted.

Also, thank you all so much for the kindness you have given me. I've gotten so many comments, more than I ever thought I'd get on this pretty niche story. You guys have been so kind and it all makes me so happy.


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